Log:Life Death and In Between
It's been a little while since they vanished into the clinic, and neither emerged from there before the sleep swept over the Facility. No, just the usual morning dash from one end of the hall to the other in the morning, with the Visionary darting out of her room early on to check on the Fool. Whatever keeps them, they aren't out until later in the day.
The Martyr is in his battered old Shreikback shirt and blue plaid flannel pajama bottoms. He is curled up in a corner of the sofa legs tucked up under his jewel toned crazy quilt. He has made an effort to slick down his hair, but on one side it's a tad accidental Flock of Seagulls. "Mood Indigo" is playing softly on the radio and he is reading what appears to be a law book. One of the ones that holds Supreme Court decitions. It appears to be fro 2015. He has a mostly untouched glass of scotch in easy reach.
The Fool returns rather un bloodied and quite not-dead, all the better for it one might imagine. It's a quiet shuffle that has the man wandering into the parlor in a mound of blankets once more. His smile is unflappable it seems, no sullen moods today, as he wanders up to get himself something to drink this time. Looks like scotch on rocks and he's sipping at it as he finally realizes Finn is there. The music catches his attention first and he's bopping on over until he can drop into a chair with his selection of blankets and likely a shadow in the shape of Cass. "What's good, daddio?"
It's that time of day that usually calls for a restock of cloves, and at least some coffee. How spiked it needs to be depends on the morning. The Visionary seems to be taking her cues from the Fool, considering that he's the one who was stabbed the last time he ventured out. She's in her usual hippie tent dress, though there's a blanket of her own thrown around her like armor fashioned of old sari scraps and cobbled together by someone's crafty aunt with too much time on her hands. She only peels off from the Fool as the coffee brews up a carafe's worth again, likely spiked, but not so liberally as it had been a few days before. "Afternoon, Dare!" she calls out, punching in the codes for a fresh pack of cloves and matches.
The Martyr looks up, blinking a little. His expression is a little distracted for several long beats until context catches up with his eyes, "It turns out if the Supreme Court legalized marriage in the future.... Oh! Hey! How are you doing?" He glances at the radio, "Duke Ellington apparently." He sets the book down. He waves at the Visionary, "Sorry we apandoned you like that."
The Fool angles his head backwards and over his shoulder and the back of the chair so he can watch Visionary saunter away, "Extra for me, darlin? I want the Eldritch Beverage, please!" which is to say a sixteen ounce of nothing but espresso, because someone likes not sleeping. Ever. Apparently. Then his gaze flashes back to Finn and he tilts his head to the side, "What'n are you talking about? Marriage been legal far as I knew?"
"Oh, don't worry about it!" the Visionary replies with an easy shake of her head as she steps back in, burdened with a carafe, two mugs, a freshly filled cigarette case, and a small pack of wooden matches. "I think I probably really freaked everybody out, but it was the only place I could think of off the top of my head that I knew we could get in and out without any awkward questions coming up. Heather was my assistant, back on the island. I'd worked with her since she was my supervisor. Wasn't really thinking, to tell you the truth." She sidles over to the chair the Fool has claimed for himself, and, without ceremony or so much as a word, drops herself into a jumble of limbs in his lap and a mass of blankets, offering up a mug while she tries to balance the dispenser junk. "Well, not for everybody, which made 1900 suck pretty badly for a lot of people, from what I gather."
The Martyr shakes his head, "I died in 1989. I didn't live to see it. Or effective medication for AIDS. Chance showed us a 'smart phone.'" He doesn't make the air quotes with his fingers, but he pronounces them just the same. "It's okay Cass. It was interesting seeing you all as you were." His smile is warmer, "Colorado and Sebastian found a way, it sounded like. I really am doing my best to keep up."
The Fool chuckles a little bit and watches Vis a bit longer until she's dropping into his lap and he wraps an arm around her waist to anchor her securely. Not reaching for that drink just yet but he's thinking about it really hard he makes a face and then goes, "Oh. Right." Then there's a deep frown and he looks at Finn, "Sorry, didn't mean to be a dick. But like, yeah, there's been a lot of us for some of us," as evidenced by those memento mori walls. "I was a stand up comedian on the Island, and I was super depressed, it's weird, but whatever." He shrugs and then thinks for a moment, "My perspective is not the norm," he mantra's himself before smiling again, "Yeah I guess if this was your first or second run, then you weren't around for the intersteller round," he makes another face then glances at his drink, "Now I want a strawberry milkshake."
"Well, they found a way," the Visionary begins, a wince contorting her features. "But one of them had to die for it to be viable. From what I gather, they shared a single body for the most part, from the time 'Rado died in the banishing ceremony." Her lips twist with apology, as though delivering this sort of news isn't the kind of optimistic outlook she prefers. "I was a dorky sixteen year old, that much is truth," she admits with a tiny rise and fall of her shoulders. "Truth?" she glances between them as she starts pouring off spiked espresso into the mugs. "I don't think anybody here has what I'd call a 'normal' perspective. That saying about the only word that should always be in quotes comes to mind." There's a smile to that, at least, warmer than before. "You realize," she says, pausing briefly, before nudging the Fool lightly in the ribs, "I'd probably be a synthetic again if we went back there now. I wonder if I'd still have all of Pandora's buggy programming?"
The Martyr nods, "You are all bigger on the inside. It's all right." He sips, "The say a lot of Comedians are. You seem better now though. I hope that's the case." Another small sip, and a smile, "It's alright, Bastian explained it. They got to be one flesh in the end. I've been trying to imagine what that would feel like, but I'm utterly failing at it." There's an abstracted quality to him today as ifmost of his brain is off doing something else and a rather vague Stepford copy is having this conversation. He doesn't seem drunk. No flushing to that fish belly skin, no give aways in voice or movements. It's just more an absense of a characteristic focus, "From what I observed the now you underneath stays the now you, but there is a physical and vocal reversion and a sometimes a... serious change of affect."
The Fool scoffs a bit, "Like there's anything normal in this nutso place," he mutters before headbonking Vis' shoulder and taking up his Eldritch coffee and takes a slow sip of the potent stuff before giving a shiver. It's like a shot straight to the adrenaline nerves. "Well bigger or not, who I am here is influenced by them, and they are influenced by me, but neither of them are the same. Something you should remember if you stay with us," he notes towards Finn with a warm smile. He hms a bit and then nods, "Yeah, if we go back we remain this place us, but I...really remember the Island right now," he shrugs, "I don't think about it too hard, that's how you go nuts," he nods sagely.
"Thinking about anything here too hard is a sure recipe for madness," the Visionary says, as if her room isn't a glaring neon sign that says 'a crazy person lives here!' from top to bottom. "This time, the time... between things?" She sinks into a coil, nestling further into the Fool's lap in a muddle of blankets. "It's almost like... time to purge and process. I don't know any eloquent way of putting it. Though connecting with people, it helps. That much is absolutely certain." She glances up with a tiny flick of her eyes. "I mean, after the station, if it wasn't for Rafe, here, I probably would still be gibbering to myself and writing everything in binary."
The Martyr gives him a crooked smile, "Oh, I've definately noticed." He stares absently at his not quite familiar hand. "The longer I'm here, the less Finn I am. I promise, I've been paying attention. There are things I know I can't possibly gras until I've been around a few more times, but I am learning what I can as fast as I can." Some of the focus comes bck into his eyes when cassandra says the park about coming back from the Noc. He is really looking at her now, "Shit! That must have been... And so many of you at once trying to... It's a miracle any of you make sense at all. You must have been incredibly strong on the inside, Cassandra."
The Fool grunts a bit of agreement and manages to sling a blanket around Vis so that they're a unit under the blankets and he's taking another slow sip from his drink. "Purge and process, yes, that is probably the best route, otherwise you dwell and never come out of your room and we worry. We basically have each other and precious little else," then he's blinking and grinning, "Speaking of which, I ended up with some D&D books after last round, you maybe wanna play a game with us sometime? I totally got a campaign ready, somehow, prolly not important." He takes a quiet moment and focuses back onto Finn, "Yeah, it's pretty rough, but we have one another, otherwise it'd be pointless. Experiencing death so many times though? I'm kinda over it, which is why I take bottles to the face." He beams.
There's a tiny flick of the Visionary's hand, and she takes a swig from her coffee. "I'm a hot mess, and I stopped pretending otherwise a while back, I think. Truth is, I'm coming to realize more and more that without everyone else here?" A pause, and she rolls a single shoulder in a graceful sort of shrug. "Who that is changes, sometimes, but. It's still everybody else, as a greater whole? We'd all be goners by now. Leaning on each other, it's... " Teeth pin her lower lip, and while she likely doesn't mean leaning in such a literal sense as her lap-perch of a position presently, it seems to count, too. "...essential to survival, if you want the real truth. Really is true. People you never thought you'd make sense to, or would make sense to you, sometimes, too. Never know who is going to really get it." At the mention of the game, she can't help but grin just a little crookedly. "Seriously, there's a delightful sort of catharsis in that game, here. And just that dash of circumstantial irony that makes it all incredibly funny, on some level."
The Martyr cocks his head, "I played a few basic and Expert modules in High School. I was... not in a position to spend anything on the Advanced Books when they started releasing them. I'm not sure I know enough rules anymore to be much fun for you, but if you don't mind someone a decadish behind I could give it a shot." He takes in the last part and then nods, "The whole bottle thing gave me a lot to think about." And a whole bunch of new data points about the 'Elders.' He gives a small laugh. "There, Derek and I clashed a whole bunch early on before I found out, then we got along okay, but we seemed to have nothing in common. Here, I'm pretty sure he's the one I'm most like of the ones I've seen here, even though we are still very different." A bitter smile flits across his face, nothing at all like Finn. There and gone in a second. he shakes whatever dark thought it was off. "One of Finn's best skills was found family, was a habit of checking in with people in a crisis. He'd spent most of his adult life with the people he cared about most dying around him. Beaver Lake was different because there was a tangable enemy. Marathon grief, marathon resistance, community buildng and network of care. That shaped him. It's how h managed there and I carry all that in me. It's what i've done since I got over the initial shock of not being Finn anymore." A drak little smile, "It's just the choices are so much murkier here and I'm not sure I like what that does to... my essense." he gazes into the distance, "I was right about Love, I think, I just wasn't thinking big enough. I was looking at brushtrokes instead of standing far enough back to see the painting as a whole."
"I died here once," the Visionary says quietly, raising a single shoulder under the pile of blankets, only to let it fall again. "Drowned. It wasn't fun, or anything, but it... wasn't the worst way to go, if I had to go down the list. Lot of people have had worse than I have on that front. I've been lucky they've all been quick." There's a hint of color in her cheeks, and a note of embarrassment, as she notes, "I actually slept through the first one. I never regained consciousness. The trailer I was in exploded when I was sleeping, and I just... woke up here. I remember some sort of dream about fire, and noise, but that's all there was to it. I have to admit, that was more jarring than the other times, and not just because it was the first round."
Who has a vintage Victorian funeral dress, hat and veil in her wardrobe? Creepshow! Because of course she does. No one has actually gone digging, but the others would likely be terrified of what they'd find in it if they ever did. Or it might devour them. Either/or.
So out comes Creepshow in her best Lydia Deetz cosplay, headed for the dispensary. She hasn't been seen out of her room in two whole sleep-cycles.
The Fool is lounging in a chair and his blankets wearing a casual and carefree smile while he drinks a coffee drink meant for dark beings of origin. All espresso and a whole damn sixteen ounce of it. He's slurping up another sip to try and knock the sleep out of his system again. If he can fight it, he can spend more time with everyone else. He smiles some for Finn and he nods, "Exploding is probably the easiest way to go, it's over quick. Having been torn to death by fish people now, I'm...I'm better with explosions," he decides. Then Creeps is wandering in and he perks up some, "Hey, hey you, I'm glad to see you," and then he lets her to her business.
The Martyr shifts his legs under his blanket. His eyes go a little wide at the exploded in her sleep part, "That must have been so weird waking up here after." His head turns sharply at the Creepshow's appearance and he watches her walk, hisexpression perfect lawyer poker face neutral.
The Martyr is in his battered old Shreikback shirt and blue plaid flannel pajama bottoms. He is curled up in a corner of the sofa legs tucked up under his jewel toned crazy quilt. He has made an effort to slick down his hair, but on one side it's a tad accidental Flock of Seagulls. He has a glass with about a finger and a half of scotch in his hand. A law book from 2015 has been abandoned nearby. He nods, "The fishpeople thing... That's got to have been terrible. At least electrocution is fast.
It may not be the most predictable expression for the Visionary to be wearing when she spies the Creepshow heading from the hall to the dispensary, but there it is. "Hey, sis," she calls over quietly, in greeting. It's a surprisingly soft greeting, considering, with a hint of concern underscoring it rather than fear. "Exploding wasn't bad, yeah. Drowning and, uh. Having your soul knocked out of your body by an angry demon? Also quick, and pretty painless, but more than a bit of a mindfuck." Her lips twist uncomfortably at that. "Then I came back, and felt a hundred times worse, because someone else gave up their own life to bring me back." There are reasons she tries to not think of Prosperity often. "I never really thought I was, you know. Worth that." And still doesn't, from her tone. "I sorta... impaled myself on a fishdude in barbarian queen rage. I, uh." She clears her throat delicately. "I don't recommend it."
Creepy gives a slight bob of her head in greeting on her way. As she passes, they can hear her sing-songing very faintly:
He is dead and gone, lady He is dead and gone.
At his head a grass green turf, At his heels a stone.
The Martyr's gaze snaps back to Cassandra, "Shit! I'd have hated that. Someone giving their life away to call me back. I'd have been furious." He is watching Creepy ut of the corner of his eyes, though not as a deer watches for predators. It's more like he's solving a series of compex equations and forgotten to make expressions with his face for the comfort of veiwers.
There's a glance toward the dispensary again, and the Visionary takes another sip of her coffee in consideration. "I did. I really did. I... am not worth that. None of the, uhm. Mes? Ever have been, so far as I can figure." Her lips twist uncomfortably. "It left a mark, after a fashion. So much of that place does, in some startling ways."
Her brow furrows, and she asks, "So. Any guesses where we're going to end up?" Because a subject change away from the catalogue of deaths she's still too sober to recount like it's normal seems to be the better part of valor. "Did anyone ever look to see if we could pin down any of the references from the radio plays?"
"Some of them remind me a little of War of the Worlds. We did a whole section on it in film school that I half remember, and how it translated from one medium to the next, but was never so effective as it was on the radio." She goes slightly pale. "I hope it's not something like that."
Creepshow slips into the dispensary, out of sight for the moment.
The Martyr turns back to Cassandra, "I'd have hated it. I have no words for how much I'd have hated it if I were in your place. Still, someone must have loved you an aweful lot to want to bring you back like that. I don't know you that well and definately haven't know you very long, but I can tell you, that Finn liked Danica, and I really did admire how you fought at the end when you were her. I can't judge one way or another about the rest and I don't want to. I do know that Finn would have gladly died horribly a hundred tmes if it would have gotten you all off the island safe. I feel that still in the marrow of my bones. I don't know the circumstances or the details, but I suspect whoever did that ttthing to you likely felt something like that and believed the sacrifice worth it. I don't agree with that choice, but on some level I understand it."
He tosses back a mouthful of scotch without choking. he glances at the radio, which is now incongruously playing Louis Armstrong's "Sunny Side of the street" softly to itself. "None of us knew enough about that period of music to know the release year of specific songs, but the concensus guess was late tewnties or the 1930's. It's not swing era big band, so '40's isn't likely unless they are all oldies stations, which seems unlikely. Some people were discussing the Zeb deamon and how the Prosperity people let it go."
"That's just it," she says, looking over to the Martyr more earnestly. "We'd never actually met before then. Wasn't one of mine, and even so." Something about that isn't at all lost on her. "I think more of us are that way than we readily admit," the Visionary confesses, suddenly thoughtful.
"Zeb was an interesting case," she says after a moment's thought. "Heck -- the guy with the coffee? Had to do the challenge Zeb proposed, and the two got to talking while they were out there in the wilds. I had words with him later, after that." Her lips twist into a sad sort of smile, and she says, "Sort of like some of the ghosts from the lodge, I guess. More sadness than anything else."
The Martyr reaches across to squeeze her hand, giving her a crooked smile, "I think you have the right of it Cass." He lets go quickly and leans mback into the sofa. he nods, "I got that people rather liked him, but the concern is if when we were going was connected to then and there this might be about cleaning up old messes. Someone floated a theory about all the places they'd been to were on some level about cleaning up some past mistake, though I couldn't follow that argument well because i don't know anything about the island beyong the glimpse of the beach I got and I only know a little about the Noc. The ghosts were a mess from thirty years in the past. Prosperity was since of the ancesters. The thought was maybe this time we could be cleaning up a mess the group made.